"amphibian" poems
With those acid wash jeans
With that full sleeve of twirling black ink
With the drapes of long hair
I thought that we could leave the xplosion-club
After the confection of colognes
After the South African red wine
After the pounding music all night
Something **** about
A statue that can move
It's eyes
Something **** about
A man that thinks
Openly
We took the subway back to my apartment
You picked up a pebble and tossed it
I was quieter now
Would I let him inside? I have to at this point it seems
A charming prince
is a charming prince
I open the door.
Nothing bad happens, as I expect
I am a little paranoid I don't know why
(The club flashes back)
The door closes without its usual creek,
And we're inside.
Me and the charmer; I wonder, was he once a frog?
I have a funny feeling that I think came from the wine
Am I trashed or
Does he have horns?
Slimy toadskin, red eyes, 1000 inches of claws
Suddenly
Are upon me, Oh my God!
I tell it to leave mE ALONE,
It doesn't listen to me.
Every time I try to slip out of it's grip
I slide into a claw
Gushing this stuff from the movies,
It covered the bed and then the floor,
It probably leaked out from under the apartment door.
My cellphone rings in my pants pocket
I can't reach it because by then this grendel thing had broken me
Into two legs, a torso, two arms
And a decapitated head
While it eats my right lung, my left hand tries to desperately crawl away
He pokes it with a great fork; no escaping crums
The awful amphibian finishes and leaves forever.
He's never coming back
A winner-and-loser kind of *** I guess.
Mar 25, 2012
Mar 25, 2012 at 9:54 PM UTC
I’m not good at being forward
I have this habit of becoming disordered
I let my emotions change the color of my sleeve
In my aspirations I hope to find belief
I walk through jungles and rainforests
Once in a while I see through the canopy
Into the skies of my memories
And request that stars dance to the rhythm of us
I keep them alive to avoid the gathering of dust
My memories, caught in the Pensieve of your eyes
Have ignored all the times I told myself lies
I may not be your ideal Superman
But I’d accept Peter Pan if you’ll go with me to Neverland
I’ve rarely been so captivated by a girl
Sure, Zooey Deschanel is quirky in New Girl
And Emma Watson bewitched me from the start
Anna Kendrick was perfect in Pitch Perfect
Alex Morgan is the luckiest 13 I’ve ever seen
But I choose you! To fill my canteen
You quench my thirst when the loneliness dries me
I was not made to walk in a desert
My heart is an amphibian
Living like a Floridian in the ice-cold tundra we call Rexburg
You still need the sun, no matter how much it snows
I’ll trudge on in the jungle; dormant in the night
I’ll carry on with you in mind, until the time is right
Once I’ve faced death, or even a spider
Then, I think I’ll top the greats; George of the Jungle, Aslan, Mogly, Tarzan, Batman, Peter Pan, Harry Potter, Genghis Kahn, Michael… Jackson or Jordan
They’re all kings and I’ll be in their league
As I shake off the fatigue and find courage in you
To make it through the awkward moment of simply saying
“You’re a real kind of gorgeous”
In that chorus, played on my rhythm of heartbeats
I found my way out of the back streets
From deep in the jungle I’ve come to know as Fear
A jungle that disappears when your presence is near
Sometimes I have to stop walking, stop thinking
I feel like I’m on the verge of something spectacular
Anything normal might ruin that
Oct 27, 2012
Oct 27, 2012 at 11:14 PM UTC
I, ConnectHook
DEMAND recognition as The Most Boring Poet of all.
You’ll never touch me so don’t even TRY.
Don’t even bother dipping your quill again,
you mere drip on the mildewed scroll of antediluvian parchment,
you cuneiform Cunégonde, you proto-Canaanite pottery fragment,
you keyboarding failed clown
and archeological relic unworthy of preservation
in a third-rate underfunded Albanian museum…
I, and I alone, dragged myself up from the protoplasmic slime
to BORE you.
I transitioned from amphibian to anthropoid
before your mama even MET the postman.
I stood upright upon the ****** battleground of evolutionary struggle
and SELECTED MYSELF (naturally).
Now pass that banana right over here.
Dec 30, 2016
Dec 30, 2016 at 2:45 PM UTC
force fed lies from birth
subliminal messages infest my upbringing
blindfolded by greed
I don't see you starve
or smell the pollution
I can't hear the bullets flying
because my ears are stuffed with lies
they say the government has my interests at heart
that the school systems are built to support me
and we're more equal than ever
so why is the wage gap wider than my young eyes
and how is it that a country that screams freedom
won't put down their weapons
when their children are bleeding
why do I know how to dissect a frog
ignorant of the fact innocent civilians are slaughtered
intestines on display
like the green amphibian under my knife
because I can kiss a girl
in a drunken game of spin the bottle
but such an act would get me killed in 11 countries
and is still illegal in 72
why do I know the sum of internal angles in a triangle
yet I don't know how
to read the signs of suicidal friends
when statistically 1 out of 5 people I roam the halls with
struggle with a mental illness
even though more than half of those suffering
have no access to treatment
we are collectively clueless
I am no stranger to privilege
my gratitude is not withheld
but why am I more worthy
than the child forced out of his country
for his religious identity,
for being himself?
why when accessing the privilege of education
they don't teach me how to help other humans
when did sums become more important
than knowledge of current wars
did you know there's more than 10 of them?
because I've only heard of one
I believe that you choose to do nothing
but if i am never aware that I have a choice
nothing can change
and even though everyone has a voice
people with the solutions only choose to hear those with a status
how is it that such screams of desperation
sound so quiet to them
why are those in power of whole countries
so blind to our demands
why do they make things impossibly easier
for those whom already have wealth and advantage
when those stripped of human rights
always seem to escape their greedy sight
but some of us have something they fear
something that never crossed their closed minds
we have the power to create our own opportunities
we can force those whom are voluntarily deaf to hear
so hear me in my passage only seen by very few
this platform may be small but my words shout at you
an action no matter how small
a voice no matter how soft
provokes change if not in yourself
then in even the most unfamiliar faces
but the difference between thinking and action making
is you
Jul 28, 2018
Jul 28, 2018 at 10:56 AM UTC
On the low-flung periphery of the salt marsh bay,
near the twisted beach, an eddy--
Sun low with the tide going up
where softly and under I lay.
For a pillow I was given
a yellow shell.
My ears were listening.
In its restlessness and reaching,
my tongue and its languages
felt lashed and closed.
I shall not leave
my waterworld.
But I must go,
ashore.
Hermit crab
raised itself up.
One silvery minnow played
across my open eyes.
Then, a cloud-blue sky
answered me
with a white seabird,
overhead circling.
So strange and beautiful,
this land of my dream I see--
in my amphibian way.
Oct 27, 2013
Oct 27, 2013 at 7:57 AM UTC
I am afraid to be afraid too afraid
to be still but still healing still
afraid to open all my heavy doors that
he has seen too much unkempt skin
that I am afraid of him that we
are broken that he was always broken but we are nothing
but bandaged apricots in the rotting August sun and he
is afraid we have too much or not enough time
afraid of us afraid of me afraid to speak but he
breathes hot scorpion-kissed lullabies into
my neck into scarlet corners of my pituitary
poisons all my wearied nerves I used to call him
master used to master our loose laundry I
refused to fold used to master our loose smiles
in front of people I refused to fold for
I used to accept his virulent apologies after business trips
I used to be afraid of him he used to be afraid
of my amphibian temper afraid of how I
waxed and waned through tempestuous waters afraid
that he was always drowning
I am afraid of the dark blue ghosts their red
angry heat I am afraid to eat cartridged
bullets of my own words silver gunpowdered
shrapnels if I eat them all lead like you would
seep into the insides of my abdomen
my insides are unreachable have a little
too much sunshine to carry along when spring
arrives I am scared because the light
comes in with brilliant blazing eyes
and sees everything
October 8, 2014 7:04 AM
Oct 20, 2014
Oct 20, 2014 at 5:09 AM UTC
For my muse, I choose the euphoric source
Of my most transcendent -
Lovely
- Muddy
Memories.
Perceptual flashes ― slosh slushing
Approaching an untamed blue-green pond
Just your average amphibian gone blonde.
In sunshine or windward shower.
Loitering around the grassy brim,
On that one slick rock, I stood up
Catch a fish ― oooooh you swift ⁓
Let it back in?
Or you could...
Run screaming like the flaming river rumbling down the mountain.
To the lunulate lagoon?? in the front yard
Hop & stand
Fish in hand You. Have. To. Make. It.
But the gargantuan estate. . . it's too late.
That tiny t-rex gait ― might just seal
That golden guppies fait.
Cause you sprung like spring
And set that little sucker free.
Apr 28, 2017
Apr 28, 2017 at 12:33 AM UTC
it is the light of candles in the window
the vaporous dawn
glowing
and not yet the sun
it is
the skin of shadow
wavering in teacups in india
the 'Bushel-of-Rice' king
smiling
at two suns.
it is the secret
of doors that have no other side
and the mystery of
rooms that lead
to them.
it is
a small thing
more vast
than
why ?
and the
need of
.
Sep 27, 2011
Sep 27, 2011 at 5:36 PM UTC
Designs and Equations
Was it the ****** Void filling
or Pandora's box opening?
Was it Victoria's secret
or was it the intellect of victors?
Was it the prowess of Hector/Hercules was it?
Was it the influence of Arthur or Har-Thor was it?
What shapes this world?
Ancient Egypt, Pyramids and the Sphinx?
Stonhenge and oblelisks?
Mystery Schools and occultism scrolls?
Crystal technology shifting poles?
Perhaps the hips and curves of a voluptuous African Queen
Perhaps the fall of Atlantis
or the secrets of the Bermuda Triangle
Perhaps the enthralling dynamics of the Photon Belt
Perhaps the mystery of Shamballa
or maybe underground bases where vortex points are
Perhaps the missing Eyepods
Maybe ancient and present advanced civilizations
Maybe it was the fall of Mars or the destruction of Maldek
Maybe the hope of Terra par DOMA
Or a design from distant super universes
or the amphibian watchers of myths
Maybe you, maybe me, maybe we
The I I I I I's of this world
however our eyes blind for we ruin this world
If we looked long enough at the light would we burn out?
If we truly listened could we hear the music of the verses unison - universes created by the Divine Creator?
would we join it/him/ness? Would we hear then Sophia being played as a harp and worlds conceived
Would we see a billion pictures as the cosmos are breathed?
and Karma come to be...
Would we learn of all life forms? Would we learn that there is more structural design than form? Would we learn that there are other mediums of activity apart from life?
Would we learn that structure is part of a larger paradigm of concentrated design?
Would we learn that universes are gardens and that there are worlds beyond the multiverse based on a hill and mountain orientation not dependant on planes?
Who shapes the world?
Our Souls from the ocean of love reincarnating?
The keepers of sacred knowledge at the temples of Golden Wisdom?
Walk-ins and starseeds? Cryptids and hybrids?
Wars or the Sun? The Peoples of the Moon or the base in Venus? The underground bases of Mars or The Order of The Phoenix?
Maybe royal and mob families?
Maybe government with all its true lies
Maybe the networks sustained by the simple minds of you and I
Whoever or whatever is responsible, either through sonic beams and energy manipulation, it is not so much the power of the Empire but rather the power we surrender.
May 12, 2013
May 12, 2013 at 9:11 PM UTC
The April morning's quiet
and so is the November.
Wherever people outnumber trees
or the dominant cover type
is unquiet. Nothing wrong with that.
Walt got it right, and Jane Jacobs:
the city is an experienced,
used beauty. Her toes are long,
nails thick and hair thin. Yet
her kisses can be sweet; or
smell of **** All my life I've tried to point my window toward
some narrow wedge of nature.
On ****** Ave., over the roof
beyond the chimneys to the park
where every dog was walked.
Could I survive soot and an air shaft now, pigeons and cats,
or even a desk in the legislature for my lot in life. How about
prison like Etheridge Knight,
Nazim Hikmet?
I've gotten soft.
When he builds that house in the pocket
wetland my window now looks out on,
the developer will have given me what I need.
Amphibian mortality,
gravel, fill,
oak, ash and maples felled. Good
to the last drop is our bitterness, our love.
Sep 10, 2018
Sep 10, 2018 at 11:03 AM UTC
Aborigines in the Australian outback
Among starving dingoes
A drug deal going on behind the bowling alley
And a butterfly knife waiting to be put into someones gut
Show some skin
Then maybe you will get somewhere at the customer service desk
Buyer beware, consumer keep cautious
Lay waste to that place and get your money back
They sold you an amphibian and told you it was a marsupial
The clerk wrote your inconvenience off as null
Off in Puerto Rico there's a cockfight
Pass the bug replant
Dos cervezas por favor
It's a steel cage grudge match
Brought to you by the courtesy of some man who's name I cannot pronounce
I got my invitation to this thing in a basket of tropical fruit
Someplace near substructure homes
I see a man in a bandanna looking at me
He turned out to be a free lance astronomer who has a thesis on starry quadrilaterals in the sky
He thought by betting on the bigger rooster he would hit pay dirt
But it was I who met pay day when I bet on the smaller, faster one
The astronomer had so much hate in his eyes I thought his corneas were going to burst
Be pulled out a blade and chased after me and all my winnings with the intent to puncture my torso and pillage my pockets
But had to go see a man about a horse named "Nunya"
Luckily I got away clean to tall the tale
Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 2:44 PM UTC
If I could be a pure mammal
Upon the sun-blessed earth
Then I would be a tiger
And live in constant dearth
If I could be a free-flying bird
That lives in floating sky
Then I would be a falcon,
Constantly diving to survive.
If I could be a careful insect
Who fears an empty spine,
Then I would be a honeybee,
A small piece in a grand design.
If I could be a scaly reptile
Devoid of female affection,
Then I would be a chameleon
Hiding myself for protection.
If I could be an amphibian,
Who laughs at single worlds,
Then I would be a salamander
Sneaking onto forbidden thresholds.
If I could be a splashing fish
Who is fickle and lost,
Then I would be a goby
Who seldom comes out when flossed.
If I could but be my true self,
I'm rather sure you'd see
That I'm no longer passively
Waiting for death to be free.
© 3/8/13
Mar 8, 2013
Mar 8, 2013 at 7:19 PM UTC
Gum is another tongue in your mouth,
taste-bud studded with sugar and pink
Hubba Bubba Double Bubble
Your jaw feels like expanding bread
when you rest from chewing
flatten it into a saucer and
let it balloon from your mouth,
it distends like an internal *****
or the full stomach of a frog
spilling from your lips
(When he stretches, you see veins
********* across his amphibian chest)
It hooks itself on your nose
and wilts into a pink tangle.
Mar 1, 2012
Mar 1, 2012 at 1:38 PM UTC
The pollywog swims
To the edge of the basin;
Soon it shall have legs.
A bass leaps from pond,
But is not amphibian,
It lives in water.
The worm feeds on green
Foliage sprouting from soil,
Unaware of flight.
A drop of dew clings
On the underside of a
Leaf splayed like a hand.
A burgundy beam
Of sun burns the soldier ants;
The queen does not grieve.
Feet disturb some twigs;
The crackling sound rapports
All throughout the woods.
Silence gives a heed
To the bird which gathers
Brown straw for its nest.
The lilting song of
A loon rises through the murk;
A sliver of moon glows.
Jan 24, 2016
Jan 24, 2016 at 5:20 PM UTC
Hectored by the pit-a-patter
of frozen pellets, you might hear
these dented eaves wheeze and sneeze
lubricious comparisons, but
it's a thickly frosted fiction
that their bulbous white noses
look anything like eggshells.
In springtime's crick-cracking they will
however birth a frog with not
so princely disposition:
Hacksaw in hand, he'll eye
your roommate and that footlocker
where she keeps invaluables
of an oddly personal nature.
His plan is to hip-hoppity leave
you red-faced, trying to calm
this panicked friend with un-fairy
tales of a burglar amphibian
who muttered of moral decay,
mis-fabled crowns, and the strangeness
of saved fingernail clippings.
Feb 18, 2010
Feb 18, 2010 at 8:03 AM UTC
It sat on the tip of her finger
oh such a diminutive fellow
never knew how small and cute
was this sweet amphibian called newt
I had only seen them on telly
and I know it sounds rather silly
but to see one in the flesh
was a revelation and gave me the *******
The porous skin
of this silky thing
it's mouth would struggle with a slug
this adoring sweet micro little thing
It just sat there as cool as a cucumber
I told my daughter to a shady leaf put under
and as he slowly scampered away
my daughter and me did bid him adieu
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
By NeonSolaris
© 2013 NeonSolaris (All rights reserved)
Aug 11, 2013
Aug 11, 2013 at 2:18 PM UTC
Sitting down by the pond the other evening,
Taking in the sunset and listening to how nature puts her children to bed,
I happened to notice my amphibian friends.
Now, I love sounds, loud ones, soft ones, booming, and whispers.
Got a right fetish for listening to nature.
As I sat there entranced, my ears started picking out different frog calls.
You know, them boy frogs trying to sound all handsome and friendly to get a wink from their girlfriends.
And not just the frogs either, ya know, there's some toads out there too.
I was hearing big ole Bullfrogs, boomin' louder than a drum in a parade.
Tiny spring peepers, with their loud high pitched sharp peeps.
There was Fowler's Toads out there too, sounding like ole Henry stuck a knife in his wife's chest, and she screamed for her life.
Them there grey tree frogs, well they are somethin'.
Chatterin' like a monkey missin' his bananas.
And don't get me started on those green frogs, boy howdy, they can twang with the best of em.
Right funny if you don't mind me saying.
But, that trilling those American toads do, out shining those short trillin' Western Chorus frogs evra time, is somethin' else.
Why they can hold a note pert near a full three minutes.
Never can tell how rich wild life is around ya til ya sit a spell and take a listen.
You may not see 'em out there, but shore nuf, life's a going on.
Oct 1, 2010
Oct 1, 2010 at 3:58 PM UTC
In deafening silence the clangers spilled their blue string soup!
While inTrumpton the boys in the fire station rang their fire bells.
The miller was windy in Camberwick Green.
And Bill and Ben.
Well they lived in a grass fuelled happy hippy scene.
With a sweet lady called ****
Hector lived in his house of fun.
Where he enjoyed his little ***** Zsa Zsa her name,
Gabor perhaps.
Bonjour, one funny frog, amphibian named Kiki.
Hector well he was a dog!
In the garden of the herbs.
Lived a jolly friendly chap.
A lion called Parsley.
What a crazy name was that.
The owl,well he was a sage.
A seer of things to come.
Bourgeoisie in the garden.
Sir Basil and Lady Rosemary.
A pair of toffs with taste!
And they wonder why today.
We poets have a vivid imagination.
Wasn't due to taking drugs.
Was the influence of T.V. on our fair English nation!
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Nov 29, 2013
Nov 29, 2013 at 12:17 PM UTC
*oh, and advertisement, καπριτσιολογια's natural ******* offspring works well with the perfectly pitched representation of the dynamism on the scales of cross-parallel social strata (i.e. "psychology" / social standardising en masse): a new york grid system: square square square, rectangle, square square square: shoeshine popsicle goldfish pig's trough.*
i found the investments of psychology
all too unfathomably capricious,
where the ratio of theory
to full-extent concrete proofs is a solution:
in that when one theory fails
another two emerge, and so on and so forth,
in that great existential ******
of dream interpretation, the golden cockerel
of freud glees with anticipation
to sprout a gigantic volcano gush of microscopic
life to enter the great **** eye that
cannot peer into itself and consider
both being and nothingness, as the great
ego eye of man does from the fully formed foetus
nimble footed and thumbs on the ready
in the grand coliseum of life - just a great
fishing net where once the mighty fisherman
st. peter caught fish, now herr anti-sanctus freud
catches foetuses of frogs - the womb the water
of these paradoxical amphibian representations;
psychology, the study of dreams, the extinction
of soul - apparently even asthma is unaccounted
for, the way in which thinking becomes
what thinking always was: a malignant capricious
medium pulverised by five vectors, and
the sixth a form of two selves: the selfless and the
selfish... dragged down to the molecular
degeneracy of explanation using genes,
but not protons neutrons or electrons - that's
reserved for the sun, the planets and the cosmos.
indeed, if psychology is the study of breathing
and not the study of thinking: imagine
what a hot snarling and wet breath raising
a voice in anger does to a cosy psychologist sitting
in his office, surrounded by ******* figurines
and african voodoo masks... sends him running...
the inverse form of asthma, asthma with words,
the angry asthma, of uninhibited thinking,
pure vocalisation of emotion...
no, i think less and less of psychology...
i think i'll just call it καπριτσιολογια:
the study of caprices, the study of whims -
e.g. a guy walks into a McDonald's, orders
a big mac in the following way:
- yes, but no lettuce, no mayo, no cheese, no
onions... just the bun the meat and ketchup.
Feb 26, 2016
Feb 26, 2016 at 7:34 AM UTC
Run away to a foreign country, one with plush yellow green pastures. The grasses hiss soothingly as the breeze brushes them down this way and that. My home, a simple one room shelter built atop a broad and wise dark leafed tree who has welcomed me to its strong open arms. The skirt of my plain brown dress tickles the tops of my feet as I step down onto the soft soily earth.
There are no people here but I am not alone. The wind is here to lift the overflow of thoughts from my ever questioning mind and the water is here to soothe me and commiserate like an old companion purified from the complications of humanity. The dirt is my mother and my father, providing for me. Nurtures me with its succulent plants and cups its hands so that I might take a few small fish from them now and then.
A spotted sun perch hangs behind me as I perambulate meditatively. I see a few delicate vibrant blossoms on the side of my arborous home. They chime a brilliant tune that I will later compose onto a clay canvas. The afternoon is spent cleaning the small token and then toasting it over fire. I tend the patches of nearly wild vegetables and fruits. The most desirable ones plucked for my plate.
Guardian stars begin to dot the serenity of a dazzling dusk that demands my awe. I am aware of my tiny existence and its grand insignificance yet at the same moment I feel as though I was specially chosen by the cosmos to witness this perfect event. An intoxicating shiver grips me suddenly as a gust flits up my spine and through the back of my hair. Slowly it falls and the lulling chirps of a million violinists begin to play to one another. An admiring amphibian adrift the pond lilies relinquishes some commending croaks.
As the dark begins to settle in I climb to my aerial cottage to lie down. The rustling of my nest-bed reminds my neighbor owl of the time and she hoots appreciatively before flying off to begin her hunts. The splendid nocturnal symphony soon sends me to my dreams.
Jun 16, 2016
Jun 16, 2016 at 10:01 AM UTC
Some weeping in the silt of river grass,
A speckled black amphibian intoned
And lured blueberry girl with yearning groan,
She understood the plea as clear as glass.
Beneath the living mud she scooped him out,
The burping toad was cradled in her palm
And sank within a meditative calm
As she observed him rapt as one devout.
He humbly sat with wide-eyed child in blues
Who held him close and thought she knew his core
Unfolding from the water to the shore
Enclosing all the world in murky hues.
Her mother called her name from hollow home
But still she peered beneath his witch's eyes
And, twinned, the souls did glimpse each others' guise.
She sympathized, so buried him in loam
And ran, a spot of blue on open heath
To where her parents cooked a windswept feast;
Though she might grow, she'd not forget the beast
Who lived above the water, and beneath.
Aug 22, 2013
Aug 22, 2013 at 6:19 PM UTC
Fish i was, once
An amphibian, bird, then a beast,
evolving much, what am I now?
uncertainty in human form.
May 8, 2012
May 8, 2012 at 3:27 PM UTC
Amphibian cuddles
holding on tight with all it's mite
'Love you, Mama' expressed
in frog licks and chirps bird-like
for crickets which are a frog's lively brunch
Jul 18, 2015
Jul 18, 2015 at 10:39 PM UTC
i stroke the water
with amphibian grace....
plastic protuberent eyes
bob up above....
then down below
.....disecting view
sky blue../...to aqualine
aquamarine.. black line
water sluicing off...
latex bundled, bumpled head
in streaming rivulets...
legs creating rhythmic geometrics....
arms parting waters to glide.........
my frogskinned self.....
is irregularly pattern
....dead fish white,
and sunkissed brown,
......on appendages
bright cerulean, slashed
with swirled butter yellow.
.....wrapped across the
overotound body...
glide onward frog girl...
....through...
the crisp chlorine clean pond...
thoughtless.... except for stroke
and lapnumber.
we.... the army of lapsswimmer
frogs.... are a silent breed
our territorial sound/call is the
regulated plash of arm or leg
.....against surface water
as we swim....always....
in straight lines.....
......that etch away miles....
and
...our overindulgent..
land based......
...vices
we are the water monks .....
of penance and self improvement
....grimly discharging our vespered canon of strokes....
before fluidly lifting our... watersilked
bodies back onto the reality
of land ......leaving
our amphibian grace
........adrift
....in the wake of daily need
Mar 29, 2014
Mar 29, 2014 at 3:49 PM UTC
They push us to the sea
amongst their garbage and their humanity
there is power in the depths of what you don’t understand
decline all that isn’t cash in hand
you push me, you pull me along
but when I straggle, like an old man, you do little to help me along
to the grave that awaits me in this dirt
to the mother and her clay earthen rebirth
for this I cannot stand
for you or your foolish demands
I find my legs pulling me into the soil, into the sands
To a core of nourishment, as the earth reprimands
My spirit
And unprofitable wisdoms
Nursed off these primordial urges
Sprung from these primordial waters
They wish to nourish you too
Take you to the land your ancestors always knew
But take what you may, take what you can, you’re too fast to sit, to reminisce, to even understand
The power, in your ways
you dismiss
your mind is despondent, to you, your body and your long days
Disturbs and aches away
The life in you decays
The irritation in your eyes flare
For the young and the ancients to prepare
For the rains
They do come
From the druids and their amphibian lungs
The chieftains move in their sunken ocean bed
Heave their damaged corporeal forms unto the shores
As far as their breath can take them and their blindness can see
To where that body dies, and the eternal walks eternally
To walk amongst you, to change you and heal the old and the forgotten ones
those you’ve left cleaved and torn
From the wisdoms their ancestors had weaved for them, to be worn
To you, do we sing
Those who are connected to a place that feeds the heart and the mind
Clears all of which was not fore-designed
For this body, for this soul, for all of the wonders the earth ponders to show
Do your deeds
Do them well
If they serve your soul
The earth as our united soul will tell
We have contract
our secrets, with composure, will yell
Amongst the rolling rocks, to the aggravated layers, to those that move above you, to those that travel in the thin air when you kiss.
You would do well, not to dismiss
To no longer remiss
May 12, 2013
May 12, 2013 at 7:26 AM UTC